When the Signal Dies, Love Is Logistics—and Every Choice Has a Cost

on the shoulder, hazard lights blinking weakly like a dying heartbeat.

A shape moved inside.

I slowed, pulling over a safe distance ahead. I kept my doors locked. I kept my keys in my pocket. I kept my brain on.

Barnaby lifted his head from the passenger seat, ears twitching.

“Stay,” I told him gently, though he was too old to leap out anyway.

I grabbed continue reading …